Just a Magic Trick
by uzumaki misaki
Summary: Sherlock wakes up in a hospital after the Fall to discover John missing and Mycroft seemingly unaware of the doctor's existence. What has happened? What is real and what is just a magic trick? Warning: Definite AU; Some spoilers for Sherlock Season 2; Character death, and angst, lots and lots of angst.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I'm taking a cue from pigpuffpickle, and writing another angsty story. When I read her summary, this idea popped into my head. After reading "Follow Me," I realized that my idea is totally different, but it helped me with the idea for this. Please read and review. And if you need some, here's a box of virtual tissues. I don't know why, but all I seem to be able to write is angst. -_-**

**Disclaimer: Oh and I'm not one of the British guys who make Sherlock, so guess what, I own nothing!**

Just a Magic Trick

Chapter 1

"Nobody could be that clever, John."

"You could."

"No, it was just a magic trick."

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock sat up in his bed, a cold sweat breaking out on his face. _'I'm sorry John, I had to do it-it was all for you...well, and others. But still, I had to do it,'_ the detective thought to himself as he reached up to wipe the sweat and tears from his face. Well, he tried to reach up, as his arm seemed to be caught on something, no...it was tied. As Sherlock opened his eyes to take in his surroundings, he was puzzled. _'Where am I?'_ he thought, closing his eyes to better deduce his situation. _'Ah, a hospital; but why am I in restraints? Molly was supposed to take care of everything-I shouldn't be in a hospital, no one else can know I am alive.'_

"Ahem." A throat clearing interrupted Sherlock's inner dialogue. "I know that you are awake Sherlock, so open your eyes and look at me," a cultured voice drawled.

"Mycroft," Sherlock sighed. "What are you doing here. No, better yet, what am I doing here?"

"Surely, dear brother, if you take the time to use your stunning intellect for good instead of self-destruction, perhaps you could deduce it, see the truth here."

Sherlock remained silent for a few minutes, pondering the words of his elder brother and recalling the details of the room he had glimpsed a moment before.

_**Single hospital room...nothing sharp...restraints... bars on the windows... Conclusion reached.**_

"What am I doing in a mental ward, Mycroft? And where's John? If I'm here then his life is in danger. Where is he Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice had risen a bit more with each succeeding question until he literally bellowed his brother's name, causing a nurse and three orderlies to storm into the room. No doubt ready to subdue and sedate him.

"Tell me Mycroft, where's John?" Sherlock asked more quietly, mentally willing the nurse to put the sedative-filled syringe away. "Please, Mycroft, I've never begged you for anything in my life, but tell me, is John alright?"

Mycroft stared at his younger brother with a puzzled expression as he motioned for the nurse and orderlies to leave the room.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice softened. "John who?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I'm not one of the British guys who make Sherlock, so guess what, I own nothing!**

Just a Magic Trick

Chapter 2

"Watson. Dr. John Hamish Watson, ex-army doctor, shot and wounded in the left shoulder in Afghanistan, crack shot, blogger, and most importantly, my flatmate and assistant," Sherlock explained slowly, as if speaking to a small child. He could not fathom his brother's reasons for acting this way, and dare he say it, playing dumb. "Don't be dull Mycroft, you know quite well who John is, after all, you practically kidnap him every other week. Stop acting as if you don't have more than two brain cells to rub together."

Mycroft stood silently a moment, considering his brother and his mental state. Taking in everything that Sherlock had just said, his thoughts were a blur. Of course he knew who John was, he wasn't the British Government for nothing. But his knowledge of John was obviously quite different than what Sherlock obviously perceived to be true.

"Well Sherlock, if you are talking about Captain John H. Watson, medical doctor, of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, formerly stationed in Afghanistan, then you are correct in your knowledge," Mycroft informed his brother.

"Well then why are you being so thick?" Sherlock practically growled.

"It is not I who is being thick, Sherlock; it is you with your drug-addled brain. I can't understand why you won't quit and get clean." Mycroft shook his head in frustration at his brother's habits. "Anyway, the rest of your so-called "facts" about Captain Watson are nonsense. After all, how can you share a flat with a dead man?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. I'm not Gatiss or Moffat, who make Sherlock, so guess what, I own nothing!**

Just a Magic Trick

Chapter 3

Sherlock, who had closed his eyes, not wanting to look at his older brother, snapped his head up and quickly opened his eyes to glare at the elder Holmes.

"Just what sort of nonsense are you on about Mycroft? John can't be dead, I just jumped to save him from being killed by Moriarty's snipers and-wait a moment, what do you mean my facts are wrong? You know as well as I that John was invalided home from Afghanistan after being shot two years ago." For once, Sherlock could not deduce what mind games his brother was up to this time, but he certainly didn't like it.

"What on earth is going on Mycroft? And what was that comment about drugs all about. You know good and well that I've been clean for the past 3 years. The only drugs addling my brain right now are the sedatives you must have had me injected with. Now tell me. Where. Is. John?!"

"Oak Park Cemetery," Mycroft said quietly. "I don't know where you got your information from, since you've been in a coma since you overdosed then tried to jump off a building, but Captain John Watson was killed in action nearly three years ago."

Sherlock stared in utter disbelief. _'That can't be true,'_ he thought frantically. _'John can't be dead, he...'_

"Date," Sherlock abruptly demanded.

"Excuse me?" Mycroft asked, only slightly puzzled.

"What is today's date?" Sherlock asked, a tremor in his voice as he feared the answer, since he knew that the facts were just not adding up.

"August 12, 2012. You've been in a coma for 8 months," Mycroft explained. "We feared that you had suffered brain damage and would never wake up."

"How?" the detective whispered.

"How did he die? Well," Mycroft began. "You stated earlier that he was shot and wounded in the left shoulder. That is where you are wrong. The bullet that hit Captain Watson hit him a bit lower...in the chest. I'm told he died instantly."

Sherlock stared at his brother, at a complete loss for word, unable to know what was reality, and what was a drug-induced nightmare. Frankly, this conversation with Mycroft _had_ to be the nightmare.

"Mycroft, you said that I had overdosed and then jumped off of a building. You did mean St. Bart's, correct?" Sherlock asked calmly. Too calmly.

"Yes, Sherlock. That's why you were brought here, to this facility. I knew that if you ever woke up, you needed help. I'm glad I did, because about two weeks ago, you started thrashing around in your sleep-to answer one of your earlier questions, that's why you're in restraints, so you wouldn't harm yourself or your nurses."

"So if John is dead, as you say, where have I been living and what have I been doing the last two years?" Sherlock inquired, again in a scarily calm voice that unnerved Mycroft.

"Here and there. I last tracked you down on Baker street. You had broken into one of the apartments and scared the poor landlady to death when she discovered you," Mycroft explained.

"So Mrs. Hudson is alright at least?" Sherlock asked, his eyes wide with concern. "Please tell her I'm sorry."

"Ah yes, I will tell her. She vaguely remembered you from a few years ago when you were actually doing something other than drugs. She said she hadn't seen you since you had been unsuccessful in proving her husband's guilt," Mycroft informed his younger brother.

"That murderer is still alive?" Sherlock yelled, some life seeming to come back into his eyes.

"No of course not. I handled things after you botched it." While he was glad to see some fire come back into his sibling's eyes, Mycroft was still wary of what Sherlock might do. He knew now that the younger man was severely compromised mentally if his ramblings about Dr. Watson were any indication.

"Mycroft, when can I get out of here?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Soon, brother," Mycroft answered gently. "As soon as the doctors have verified that you are completely well and stable mentally and physically. And if you are nice and keep your deductions about the personal lives of the staff here to yourself, I'll see if they can discharge you more quickly."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I'm not a man, and I'm not British either, therefore, I can't possibly own Sherlock and company.**

It Was Just a Magic Trick

Epilogue

Three weeks later...Oak Park Cemetery.

"Hello John. Well, I know you can't hear me, but I need to say this anyway. You don't and never knew me, but I knew you, and I must say goodbye to the John I knew and cared for. In my dream, this was my grave I saw you standing over. But here, in this world, it is yours. Mycroft once told me that caring was not an advantage. But the version of you that I knew, you made me care, and I'm glad you did." Sherlock paused to wipe the tears that were beginning to fall.

"I told you once that I wasn't a hero. What I didn't say was that you were the hero; my hero. I'm sure there were times you didn't think I was human, but you were for me. You were the best man and human… human being I've ever known, and no-one will ever convince me that you were a lie, that our friendship never existed." the forlorn detective gave up trying to wipe away his tears, and simply let them fall.

"I was so alone, and I owe you so much. You were my best friend and you made me become more human. You were real to me and you changed my life. I can never thank you enough for that," Sherlock choked out.

"I rarely ever say please, and I've never said it to you before. But please, John. Don't. Be. Dead. Please don't let our friendship, the Work...our life together...don't let it all be just a magic trick." Sherlock turned and walked away, unable to look at the black and gold marble gravestone any longer.

_**Here lies**_

_**Captain John Hamish Watson, RAMC**_

_**August 10, 1975 - October 11, 2009**_

_**Beloved son and brother**_

_**Dedicated doctor and soldier**_

AN: Yes, I made up those dates for John. No, I don't know why I keep writing all these sad fics. Well, I hope you liked it.


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